


Everyone Gets Hurt

by twisting_vine_x



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coda to 3.06, Episode: s03e06 Motel California, F/M, First Kiss (Derek/Stiles), Hurt!Derek, Language, M/M, Nightmares, Past DubCon, Sexual Content (Derek/Jennifer), Slightly dubcon-ish (Derek/Jennifer), intimacy issues, past trauma, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisting_vine_x/pseuds/twisting_vine_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For a moment, there’s nothing but them staring at each other, far too close and dangerous in the small space left between them, and Derek desperately needs to leave before he does something unforgivable – but then a new wave of dizziness swamps him, nearly pulling him under; and when he opens his eyes again, Stiles is helping him to sit on the bed, his hands gentle on his shoulders.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Gets Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a Sterek shipper, but I was all fine and dandy with the whole Derek/Jennifer thing (honestly, I'd be on board with pretty much anything that could bring Derek some happiness), right up until they had sex while he was still bleeding on the sheets. This fic spawned out of my feelings about that.

It’s been years – years stacked upon years – since Derek has been close to anyone.

Erica had kissed him – had sent him tail-spinning for days, though he had never held it against her; she had barely been turned, and would have never been able to hear the difference in his heartbeat; that thin line between lust and fear – but there’s been nothing else – nobody else – since Kate. The only person who’s made Derek even want to try is Stiles – abrasive, snarky, sarcastic, loyal Stiles – but the boy is sixteen, and Derek cannot let them go there. He was the same age when Kate got hold of him, and he can't do that to Stiles. Wants, desperately, to try with him – wants to give in to the way Stiles goes all shaky when he’s around Derek – but, regardless of what Stiles wants, he doesn’t deserve to be pulled even further into the hell that is Derek’s life. Knows that he, himself, isn’t sure what he wants, either – knows that Kate left scars; and he’s still not even sure if he can trust his own reactions – and it’s all more than enough to make Derek fight, desperately, to keep his hands to himself, and to keep Stiles at a distance as best as he can.

Jennifer, though. He doesn’t even know how he ends up with her. Thinks it has something to do with how very much he does not trust Peter – doesn’t want to go near him. Not when Peter could tear his throat out as easily as breathing, with how badly injured Derek is – which makes going to Cora impossible, too. And with the rest of the pack gone from Beacon Hills – Derek doesn’t know where they are, exactly, but he can’t smell them, and he can’t hear them; can’t sense any of them nearby – he ends up at Jennifer’s car, and then she somehow gets them both back to his loft. He registers enough, at least, to realize that there’s no scent of Peter around the place – that his loft is safe – and then he lets himself fall, as the pain inside him seems to rise up and swamp him.

Everything goes hazy, then, for a long while; and when he eventually comes to enough to sit up on the bed, his entire body is still on fire. Everything hurts, and everyone around him gets hurt – but she still wants him; and when she kisses him, it feels like something inside him is cracking apart. He doesn’t say no, though – he’s not entirely sure he wants to; but even if he did, he doesn’t think he’d know how – and when he kisses her back, he can feel the way her heartbeat spikes, arousal shooting through her – and it’s been years, years stacked upon years, since he felt that from someone. Years since he caused someone pleasure instead of pain. Everything still hurts – agony, all up his side, and across his chest – but he doesn’t say no; because someone wants him enough to kiss him, and it’s enough to make him want to try. Enough to make him want to try to burn away the touch of Kate with the touch of someone else, even if it’s not the person he really wants. He shakes the entire time, and hopes she feels it as nothing more than lust; and somewhere along the way, something inside him must heal a bit, because his wounds start to close, too.

He’s not sure if he feels healed, though. Lies there afterwards and doesn’t know whether he wants to get closer, or whether he wants to run away. Lets her run her hands across his body some more – and it feels good; it truly does, even if it makes him ache in not good ways, too; in ways that make his heart beat too quickly and his chest get too tight – and when she eventually leaves – when he’s no longer bleeding everywhere, and when his scars are mostly all healed, and when she seems to feel it’s alright to leave him alone – she does so with a final kiss at the door, and a promise to be in touch with him soon, if he wants her to be. He simply nods at that, and then she’s gone, and Derek curls up in his bed for a long while and doesn’t move. Stays there until something inside him swells to life at the feeling – the instinct – that his pack has returned, and the he drags himself out of bed, has a shower, puts his clothes on, and goes to find Scott.

\- - -

He doesn’t find Scott. The first person he finds, in fact, is Stiles.

Scott is at Alison’s, and Isaac is with them, and Derek doesn’t want to interrupt. Thinks about going to Boyd, but doesn’t know whether his presence will be welcome, after what happened with Erica; and so, instead, he goes to Stiles’. Climbs up to his window – it hurts a bit; and perhaps he’s not as healed as he had hoped – and watches Stiles for a moment – something inside him aching at the way Stiles is curled up on his bed, staring blankly at the wall, his normal jittery energy seeming somehow sapped out of him – and then he steadies himself and knocks on the window.

For a moment, Stiles’ only reaction is to go very, very still – and then he swallows hard, as though steadying himself, before he closes his eyes, and then climbs to his feet. Raises his gaze from the carpet to meet Derek’s – and Derek feels horribly vulnerable, suddenly, because Stiles looks like he’s been cracked open. Somehow, though, Derek keeps his grip on the ledge until Stiles opens the window and lets him in – and then Derek just stares at him for a long moment, trying to ignore the way Stiles’ heartbeat is going crazy. Can’t even think of what to say – and, god, this is dangerous. Derek knows that they’ve become friends, of a sort, over their summer together, and he knows that Stiles physically wants him – but from the way Stiles is looking at him, like Derek’s broken something inside him, it might go deeper than that; and Derek takes a steadying breath and drops his eyes down to the carpet, because he just can’t look at Stiles right now.

“Stiles –”

Whatever he was going to say is cut off when Stiles steps forward and shoves him, hard, and Derek is so surprised that he lets himself be shoved. Takes an unsteady step backwards, braces himself against the bedroom wall, and then brings up his hands to wrap around Stiles’ wrists, holding him in place – but Stiles doesn’t seem to be trying to shove him again. Is just glaring up at him, his eyes slightly damp, his scent a confused mix of relief and anger, and his expression twisted like he wants to hit Derek and kiss him at the same time; and Derek very carefully keeps hold of Stiles’ wrists, because he wouldn’t trust either of them, right now, if he were to let Stiles go.

“Stiles –”

“You _bastard_.”

“I –”

“Scott damn near _died_ , Derek. Damn near let himself die because he felt so fucking guilty. If you didn’t give a damn about me –”

“That’s not –”

“– you should have at _least_ cared about him. Should have let us know –”

“It wasn’t – I needed time to heal. Needed to –”

“– because, yeah, alright. You and I? Sure. I still don’t know if you even _like_ me half the time. But Scott, at the very least –”

“I like you.”

It’s out before he can stop it – quick and far too honest – and when Stiles stops talking and just stares up at Derek, it takes everything Derek has to not look away. For a moment, there’s nothing but them staring at each other, far too close and dangerous in the small space left between them, and Derek desperately needs to leave before he does something unforgivable – but then a new wave of dizziness swamps him, nearly pulling him under; and when he opens his eyes again, he’s let Stiles go, and Stiles is helping him to sit on the bed, his hands gentle on his shoulders.

“I – alright, then, big guy. You just – sit down for a bit, alright? You’re obviously not completely healed, so –”

“Stiles –”

“No, just – you don’t get to ‘Stiles’ me, alright? You just sit there, and – and do your werewolf-y thing, and I’m going to call Scott, right the hell now, so your pack can stop thinking their alpha’s dead.”

He realizes, distantly, that Stiles’ hands are shaking, and all he can do is nod as Stiles pulls away and fumbles for his phone, shooting him one last look before he puts it to his ear; and Derek closes his eyes as Scott’s voice answers on the other end. Closes his eyes as the room spins around him some more, and he shouldn’t let himself lie down – he _shouldn’t_ – but Stiles smells like safety, and the bed is soft underneath him, and Derek is tired. All it takes is one final wave of dizziness for him to let himself lie back –

And maybe he’s still more exhausted than he thought, because when he opens his eyes again, the room is dark around him, and he has a blanket pulled over him. His legs are still hanging over the side of the bed, his boots still on the floor, and his spine screams at him when he sits up again – and then he swallows, hard, as Stiles stirs where he’s lying beside him. He doesn’t wake up, though – just lies there, on top of the blankets, curled up into a ball, still tense even while he’s asleep, and looking so young it hurts – and Derek breathes through the ache of how desperately he wants to touch him as he gets to his feet, opens the window, and slips out as silently as he can.

\- - -

Ten minutes later, though, as he’s nearing his loft again, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out.

_I’m glad you’re not dead._

For a moment, he just stares at it. Then, he can’t quite stop the small smile that turns up the corner of his lips – ignores, as best he can, the happy pressure inside his chest – and he’s just about to put the phone away when it buzzes again, and the contents make him scowl some more.

_You passed out before I had a chance to tell you, so – this is me, telling you now._

_I did not pass out._

_Sour wolf. You so did. Don’t worry, though – I won’t tell. :)_

It gets another reluctant little smile out of him – and then he slides the phone into his pocket, and starts climbing the stairs to his loft, trying to ignore the way his clothes and skin smell like Stiles.

\- - -

The next day, the entire pack shows up, complete with Allison and Lydia.

Derek is barely awake – he had come back to the loft to find Cora waiting for him, and had learned that she and Peter had spent the last several days scouring the forests for him; and then the two of them had sat up late into the night, though Cora was kind enough to not anything about the way Jennifer’s scent was still hanging over the place – by the time everyone shows up. He’s just dragged himself out of bed – had a shower, and put on some clothes – when the knock comes, and then all he can do is open the door and blink at the swarm of teenagers standing there.

For a moment, everyone just stares at him – and then Derek swallows hard, steps aside, and lets the group file in. Doesn’t even try to keep Allison out, because that’s the last thing everyone needs right now. The air reeks of tension and confusion, overlaid with an almost suffocating amount of relief, and – once everyone is in, seated on the couch and the bed and staring at him – Derek finds that he doesn’t know exactly what to say. Stiles is sitting beside Scott on the bed, and Isaac and Alison and Boyd are on the couch, and Lydia is perched on one of the couch arms, and Cora comes wandering out of her room, her hair wrapped up in a towel as she stares at the scene – and Derek is just about to try to find some way to apologize, when Scott speaks up first.

“We’re glad you’re okay.”

And Derek – has no idea what to say to that. Can barely breathe through the warmth that rises up through him – something that doesn’t feel like pain, for once. Swallows, again, as the silence in the room becomes even more crushing, with the eyes of everyone fixed on him – and when all he can seem to manage is a nod, he doesn’t miss the way Stiles rolls his eyes, before he gets to his feet.

“Yes, alright. As touching as this is, we need a plan. Ethan said Kali’ll be coming after us, and we’ll be a hell of a lot stronger if we’re all on the same page with everything, so. Pack meeting time?”

He full-on waggles his eyebrows as he says it, even manages to paste on a grin – ridiculous, _so_ ridiculous; and Derek is so grateful to Stiles for taking the attention away from him that it hurts – and Lydia makes a huffing sound as she rolls her own eyes, but Scott’s smiling at Stiles, and the tension in the room eases enough that Derek can breathe again. He’s got everyone in one place, and he – for better or worse – isn’t dead yet; and he owes it to his pack to get them all through alive.

\- - -

That night, Derek wakes himself up yelling.

For an agonizing moment, Kate’s laughter is shrill in his ears, and his house is burning – and then he sucks in the clean, smoke-free air of his loft, and rolls onto his side with a whimper. Hopes, desperately, the Cora is out with Peter – and when nobody comes running to him, he whimpers again – nobody to hear him – and curls up tighter on himself. Stays there until he finds himself reaching for his phone – because the bed smells like Jennifer, even though he changed the sheets, and it’s too much for him right now. Makes his shaking fingers work on the tiny keys.

_Can I come over?_

He regrets it the moment he hits send, and then throws his phone across the room. Climbs to his feet and smashes the lamp to the floor. Puts his fist into the headboard – feels the wood crack underneath his hand – and then picks up his phone when it buzzes, loudly, where it’s lying on the floor.

_Window’s open._

For a second, Derek just stares at the text – and then damn near chokes under a wave of nauseating self-loathing. It’s just past three in the morning. On a school night. What is he doing?

_Never mind. I’m fine._

_You know what ‘fine’ stands for, right? Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional?_

Instead of responding – it’s far, far too close to the truth – he simply slams his phone down on the bedside table, and goes to lie on the couch. Grabs one of his jackets to use as a blanket, and then tries to make himself drift off again, despite the way his stomach is churning. Closes his eyes and tries to block everything out, for a while – and he must fall asleep, for at least a bit, because the knock, when it comes, startles him so badly he nearly falls off the couch. Can only stare at the door, for a second, a familiar scent reaching him, mixed with the sound of Stiles’ racing heartbeat – and Derek should ignore him. Should close his eyes and fake sleep until he goes away.

He doesn’t. He gets up and opens the door, and he’s not sure exactly how wrecked he looks right now, but from the way Stiles’ face twists into even more obvious concern, it’s not good. He opens his mouth to speak – though what, exactly, he’s going to say, he’s not sure – but Stiles holds a hand and shakes his head.

“Look, okay. I won’t pretend to know what goes on in that head of yours, but I know a bit about fighting demons, so – you want company, that’s all you gotta say. You want me gone, you tell me that, too, and I’ll be gone – but. If you don’t fancy being alone, I hereby volunteer to be that person you can call at four in the morning, and I’m happy to stick around for as long as you want me.”

It all comes out in one giant rush – and Stiles smells more nervous than he has in a long time, and his heartbeat is so quick it’s a wonder that it isn’t choking him – and Derek should say no. Should tell Stiles – he’s _sixteen_ – to go away. That he doesn’t need him here. That everyone around him gets hurt, and that the best thing Stiles could do would be to run away as fast as he can. Summons up the strength, somehow, to do just that –

And then Stiles takes a step closer, way too close, and Derek chokes and stalls out on the words. Can only stand there as Stiles stares up at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing as though he’s pondering something – before his face twists into something that looks like determination, and he puts a hand on Derek’s chest. Moves so, so very slowly – Derek has more than enough time to move away; sees it coming, and has plenty of time to move; _knows_ that he should move – but he lets Stiles touch him – lets him put a hand on his chest – and then goes all twisty inside at the unsteady breath Stiles lets out. Goes all shaky and hot and lets Stiles leave his hand there, until Stiles raises his eyes to meet him, and Derek feels his stomach tighten at the uncertainty he can see there.

“Is this – okay?”

And – no. It’s not. Because Stiles is sixteen. And Derek is broken. Broken in ways that Stiles can’t possibly understand. But it comes to him, distantly, that he can’t smell any fear on himself – that, incredibly, he’s not fighting the instinct to run away – and he keeps his eyes open as he nods. Can’t seem to make himself step away. Watches, disbelieving, as a small, pleased smile curls up the corners of Stiles’ lips, his eyes softening and his face going lax with relief – and then, after a moment of light pressure, his hand resting right over Derek’s heart in a way that Derek feels straight through to the rest of his body, Stiles slides his hand up to rest his fingers against Derek’s collarbone, and it takes everything Derek has to not fucking whine at the touch. It’s – it hurts, a bit, rubbing against the jagged places inside him; but it also feels good – good in a way that he isn't sure he's ever felt – and all he can do is ball his hands into fists and try to keep breathing.

“I figured – well. Thought we’d lost you, so. Decided I had to try, at least. Worst case scenario, you’d throw me out on my ass and I’d humiliate the hell out of myself.”

His voice is soft, his fingers dragging gentle circles across Derek’s skin, and Derek can feel the way his breath is heart is beating too fast – but he doesn’t want this to stop. Doesn’t want Stiles to stop. Can’t say a word, though – doesn’t want to push Stiles away; wants Stiles to never stop touching him – and they just stand there, like that, until Stiles eventually looks up at him, gives him another smile, and then drops his hand, though he doesn’t make any move to step away.

“But right now, though – you’re the one who called me here, and I’m guessing that it wasn’t for my nubile young body, so. What do you need?”

The words don’t process for a moment, and all Derek can do is blink. It feels, somehow, like the world just got turned inside out – that he was just given something good, when he was least expecting it. Something that he has no right to take, no matter what Stiles might think. But Stiles is still smiling at him, and Derek doesn’t want to go back to his couch. Doesn’t want to go back to the nightmares. Wants to take a chance and try, maybe, if Stiles is willing to have him. Wants to know if he can make Stiles feel safe, the same way Stiles has been doing for him, all along, without even knowing it.

“I – can we – I don’t want to be here.”

“Late night joyride, then?”

“You – it’s a school night. You should be –”

“Spending one day running on caffeine won’t kill me. C’mon.”

And his voice is still fond, and that smile is still there, and when Stiles turns to go, Derek doesn’t hesitate. Goes back inside just long enough to get his keys and a jacket, and then he locks the door and follows Stiles down the hallway, everything inside him feeling lighter than it has in a long time.

\- - -

They drive.

Stiles doesn’t press for the details on why Derek texted him, and Derek doesn’t offer; and neither of them says a word about their moment in the doorway. Stiles simply alternates between turning up the music, and turning it back down to ramble out randomness; and he doesn’t once seemed perturbed by Derek’s barely verbal responses. Maybe he’s just used to it by now. Whatever the case, by the time they finally come back to Derek’s place, Derek is feeling settled in a way that he desperately wants to hold on to – a way that nearly makes him ask if he can come back and sleep at Stiles’ house, instead of staying at the loft, alone. Somehow, though, he gets his door open – and then there’s a hand on his elbow, and Stiles’ eyes are big and concerned in the dark.

“Hey, um. I meant it. You need anything, you just let me know, alright?”

“I – alright.”

“I mean, you seem to be allergic to doors, and all, but my window’s always open.”

He’s smiling as he says it, for all that his heart rate is up, and for all that he smells nervous, now, for the first time since they started driving, and Derek wonders if he’s expecting Derek to kiss him. It’s enough to make him flounder – enough to make him hesitate – because he _wants_ to. He actually, truly wants to, in a way that hasn’t happened in longer than he cares to think – but he can’t. He let Stiles touch him once, already, and that was a mistake; and now he’s letting Stiles touch him, again, and that’s also a mistake; because Stiles is a _boy_ , and his life has already been fucked up enough by Derek’s world, and the last thing he needs is for Derek to fuck him up even more.

It’s a thought that – somehow – gives him enough strength to just nod and slide the rest of the way out of the jeep, though he doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment across Stiles’ face. Stands there, for a second, and then turns and goes inside, something inside him pulling too tight when it takes a good thirty seconds before Stiles starts his jeep again. He’s pulled away by the time Derek gets to the door of Derek’s loft, though, and all Derek can do is lock the door behind him and fall back down onto the couch, cursing himself and cursing Stiles and cursing this whole stupid situation.

\- - -

For two days, the only person Derek sees is Cora.

He doesn’t see Stiles, and he doesn’t see Scott, and he doesn’t see Jennifer. He simply hides away with his sister, and learns more about what she’s been doing for the past six years. Peter seems to have vanished, for the moment – and Derek would like to be relieved, but it just makes him even more suspicious – and the only person that he and Cora see, other than each other, is the pizza delivery guy. For two days, at least – and then Scott suggests another official pack meeting, and the loft gets filled with teenagers again. They make plans, and they spend some time together, and Derek spends most of the evening trying to not stare at Stiles – and trying to not notice the way Stiles is trying to not stare at him – and when everyone leaves again – including Cora, who says she wants some time alone – Stiles is the only one to stay behind.

Derek isn’t quite sure how he manages it – since they came back from that motel, Stiles and Scott haven’t seemed to move more than three feet away from each other – but, somehow, Stiles is standing right there, in the middle of Derek’s loft, after everyone else has gone, and Derek – doesn’t know what to do. Simply stares at Stiles, and tries to ignore the way he wants to put his fingers in Stiles’ hair and his lips on Stiles’ skin – and then Stiles opens his mouth to speak, and Derek shakes his head, cutting him off. Whatever Stiles is going to say, Derek knows damn well that it will be persuasive enough for him to let himself try with Stiles, and that’s something that just can’t happen.

“You’re sixteen.”

“Derek –”

“The other night – that shouldn’t have –”

“Three days ago, I talked my best friend out of killing himself. Before that, I considered fucking the first person who’d have me – even if he was a total stranger – in an effort to preserve my own virginal little life. Before _that_ , I had the shit kicked out of me by an angry old man who thought that picking on the human would send a message to the wolves. You honestly don’t think I’m old enough to –”

“That’s not the –”

“The _point_ , Derek, is that I want something good in my life – that I want _you_ , specifically. And if you want me, too, then I need you to stop with all the, _it’s for your own good_ martyr crap – because after everything I’ve been through, I think I’ve earned the right to make my own goddamn decisions.”

Derek, distantly, realizes that Stiles has been moving closer, the entire time he’s been speaking – and Derek should be moving away, but the words are getting all twisted up inside him, and he somehow doesn’t seem to have any fight left in him. Knows better – knows damn well that he should still be protesting – but he also knows, better than most, what it’s like to _not_ be able to make his own decisions – and when Stiles moves to stand right in front of him, Derek can feel it – the exact moment when he finally gives up on fighting. He might not know what, exactly, Stiles wants from him, but Derek wants him, too, in whatever way he can have him – wants to see if, maybe, they can make something good together –

And then Stiles takes his hand, traces a pattern against his skin, and raises his eyes, meeting Derek’s and somehow managing to look determined and confused and hopeful all at the same time.

“Yes?”

Derek kisses him.

Derek kisses him, and the walls don’t come tumbling down, and the world doesn’t end, and his chest doesn’t get tight enough to choke him. All that happens is that, in mere seconds, Stiles has gone absolutely boneless against him, holding on tight and just letting Derek kiss him, his hands curling into Derek’s shirt and his mouth opening underneath Derek’s like he needs Derek to breathe – and Derek’s not sure how long it lasts, but by the time he pulls back to let Stiles breathe, Stiles’ face is flushed, and his lips are swollen, and he’s grinning in a way that’s nearly blinding.

“See? Wasn’t so bad, right?”

Stiles' breathing has gone all ragged, though, and there’s something serious there, despite the grin; and Derek feels it like a punch to the gut. Tightens his grip on Stiles’ hips and just stares at him, something swooping low in his stomach when Stiles stares right back, his grin fading into a softer smile – that smile that looks unapologetically fond, even, as he raises a hand to rest it on Derek's cheek, a touch that Derek feels straight through to the rest of the his body – and Derek knows damn well that he’s a fucking minefield. Knows damn well that, sooner or later, Stiles is going to trip over one of those mines, and everything’s going to crash down and break apart around them –

But right now, he feels good, and Stiles looks and smells happy, and the ache inside him feels less painful than it has in years; and Derek is just going to cling to this moment for as long as he can.


End file.
